


Skeptics and True Believers

by corvus_corvus



Series: IchiRuki Month 2018 [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: 686 compliant, Canon Compliant, F/M, I never know if that is adultery or just tragedy, It's a little sad, Just with more added, No one is cheating on their spouses but they do love people they are not married to, Past Relationship(s), Referenced Flashbacks/PTSD, You Have Been Warned, adultery?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvus_corvus/pseuds/corvus_corvus
Summary: Rukia looks forward to seeing Ichigo as much as she dreads it, knows how the flare of color that warms her soul will only make her more aware of her empty, dull self when she has to leave again.





	Skeptics and True Believers

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for IchiRuki Month 2018, Day 16: it’s just ten years, but it’s such a long time OR muted tones. This prompt covers both. I want you all to know I had to re-read chapter 686 to get this right, and it was not a fun time. But I hope it was worth it for all of you.  
> Also, though it was not intended this work could fit well with my other work "Disintegration" if you want to read a brief coverage of Ichigo's thoughts on his and Rukia's situation.

“Why are you so jumpy?” Rukia looks up at the red hair that’s only made her heart pale for years now, but she smiles because she knows how to survive.

“I’m not,” she replies over her shoulder, “It’s just been a while, so I’m a little excited.” It’s a lie. Or at best a partial truth. Her excitement is overflowing, and she focuses all her energy on concealing the degree to which anticipation is destroying her composure.

Renji scoffs, though the malicious intent is missing. “Ten years is not a while. I doubt much has changed.” He tends to treat her like a child, undermining everything she says to correct her on technicalities or subjective opinions. Biting her lip, Rukia frowns and is grateful that her taciturn nature has always passed as normal by her husband’s standards.

“Renji,” she begins (and why does it always feel like she is lecturing her daughter instead?), “ten years is a long time for humans. Maybe things are not too different for us, but this is a good fraction of their lives.” Things _have_ changed though, and Rukia wonders why Renji would think otherwise. She was promoted again. They are married. They have a daughter. And this is supposed to be nothing for her? It panics her more to imagine all that could have happened in Ichigo’s life in the same amount of time if such milestones are to be taken for granted. “In human time, if people don’t talk for ten years, they probably aren’t friends anymore.” _And they definitely aren’t lovers anymore,_ she thinks.

Even if listening to her was truly a rarity, it could never be said that Renji didn’t care. So Rukia’s heart hurts when Renji puts a hand on her shoulder and tells her softly, “I didn’t know that. This is a big deal after all, huh? But I don’t think you need to worry; you and Ichigo have always been so close it’s like your more than friends.” Her stomach flips. Rukia hopes she isn’t going to throw up. “I don’t think time is going to change that.”  
___

It’s years back and Rukia sits on Ichigo’s floor pulling the plastic off one of those hokey American fortune cookies Ichigo found who knows where. The novelty provides them some entertainment, and Rukia swears she hears Ichigo giggle quietly at least once. Ichigo’s hand rests against the small of her back when Rukia finally breaks open the cookie while he gives a half-hearted grumble about crumbs on the floor. She reads the tiny, printed words aloud: _Though time may pass, these bonds will never break._

Ichigo returns her smile. “Huh. Maybe these cookies do predict stuff after all.”

“What are you talking about, idiot?”

“Well, I can’t imagine going on without you. Seventeen months was enough for me.” He pauses, “Besides, I think it would take divine intervention to break our bond.” Rukia laughs at him, but her heart is warm and full. She is in love with this idiot, and he has made it clear time and time again just how much he loves her.

They kiss.  
___

She’s never been someone who screams bright colors, but for a brief moment in time Rukia felt as bright—as alive—as him. It’s been ten years since she was that, ten years of muted tones and quiescent life. She looks forward to seeing Ichigo as much as she dreads it, knows how the flare of color that warms her soul will only make her more aware of her empty, dull self when she has to leave again. But when she finally sees him, she is shocked. Physically, it doesn’t seem different. His hair is still orange. His eyes still that warm brown. When he looks at her, when she looks him in the eyes, she sees the gray of cloudy skies, the weak shade of dead leaves, the dullness of paint made pale from wear. There is no trace of the vibrant, full-saturated vitality she came to know.

“Yo,” is all he says to greet her, but nostalgia isn’t enough to make it charming. Even when conversation between them flows easy, it sounds like pale echoes of time spent in closets and on rooftops, not the bright gold-green of new growth. She misses the bright red ribbon she always felt tying them together, hates to face the unsubstantial, faded thing it is now. Did their love burn too brightly? Was it inevitable that the light of their happiness bleached out the color like week-old flowers on a grave? She is interrupted as Tatsuki, Kiego, and Mizuiro yell from the couch while Karin and Yuzu rush into the living room. Ichigo calling for Orihime is the final piece; everyone is here, so Rukia puts her thoughts on hold.  
___

The last time she remembers feeling like this, overwhelmed and scared, she also remembers coping the same way. Ichigo may have never talked about the flashbacks, the panic attacks, the fear to anyone else, but they had long been each other’s exception. Living with him for years meant that Rukia was used to being woken up by his nightmares, so she thought he couldn’t worry her any worse. This she had learned how to deal with. This she could handle.

Yhwach changed things.

Rukia catches Ichigo staring at his left hand intently, like he is surprised to see it there. When she asks about it, he blows off her question. They sit in silence for hours before Rukia hears him leave the room, then leaves herself when she hears something shatter. Every light in the house is on, from lamp to television to night light, and the bathroom door is open. Rukia runs to the doorway and sees two things: the broken mirror and Ichigo curled up on the floor. Seeing him like this scares her. Still, she brushes the glass out of her way to sit next to him all the while hoping she can handle this. “Hey,” she whispers, “are you ready to talk now?” Ichigo shakes his head staring at the cracking grout between tiles. “Can I hold your hand? It might make you feel calmer.” Her heart pounds, but she bottles it up for his sake. “Please,” she continues. Slowly, he puts his hand in hers and lets her trace circles over his knuckles. It’s Rukia who speaks again. “I’m here. And you are here with me, not wherever you are seeing or feeling, okay? We aren’t fighting right now, no one is trying to hurt us—”

Ichigo squeezes her hand so hard she flinches. “I know I’m here, but you’re wrong. Someone is trying to hurt us and I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s all dark. Everywhere. I know it’s night but how do I know if he’s there? I can’t tell it all apart. He could be here and I wouldn’t even know.” _He._ Yhwach. Ichigo can’t even say the name.

“That’s why all the lights are on,” she comments. He relaxes a little and lets Rukia pull him close.

Ichigo nods, embarrassed. “I know it’s stupid, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to protect everyone from him.” Quieter, he adds, “I don’t know how to protect you from him.”

“It’s not stupid. What about the mirror?”

“Shit,” he replies. “I keep seeing shadows behind me and it’s probably _my_ shadow, but how am I supposed to tell? What if I’m wrong and he’s here? What if he’s hiding in me? I’m going crazy, aren’t I? This sounds like someone who’s fucking lost it.” Rukia feels her sleeves get wet before she realizes Ichigo is crying, quiet, scared tears. _The defeat of the body by the heart._ She knows the feeling, she wants to cry too, doesn’t know what to do for him. She knows they will never make it if they both fall apart at once, though, so Rukia swallows her own emotions for both their survival and puts on a face of calm and comfort. It’s the least she can do for the man she loves.

Ichigo doesn’t sleep for days after, and she tries her best to stay up with him. Instead, Rukia falls asleep on his shoulder, and wakes up to dark circles around tired eyes. He smiles at her, but it looks sad. “I think I know how I can keep you safe,” Ichigo starts, “He’s waiting for me to be my happiest and you—”

This wakes Rukia up immediately. “Ichigo, I know where you are going with this. No. You are wrong.”

“You make me so happy, Rukia—”

“Stop it.”

“But he can’t hurt you if I’m never happy.”

“Listen to me!” She points a finger at him, looking for a way to direct her rage. “Yhwach was trying to get in your head. This is what he wanted. Don’t let yourself think this way.”

He kisses her, cupping her face in his hands. “Rukia, I love you so much.”

“I know that.” Rukia squirms out of his grasp to punch him in the arm. “And I love you, idiot, so stop this!” Ichigo stares at his feet and frowns. His next words are a whisper.

“I’m going on a date with Inoue next Thursday.”  
___

It’s only once Chad’s fight is over and the socializing picks up that they get to talk. Rukia walks to the kitchen for a moment of quiet, but finds Ichigo instead. Instantly, she puts on her smile and prepares to argue with him for the sake of their image. The others are right there, meters away. The façade must endure.

“It’s hurt to feel like this, but it’s worse to see you feeling it too,” Ichigo mumbles toward the countertop. 

Rukia can’t figure out how to steer this remark back into the safe zone they’ve been balancing all afternoon, so she takes the bait instead. “You’re going to have to be more specific,” she tells him. Perhaps it’s fine as long as they look like they are having a normal conversation. “Feeling what?”

He takes a moment. “Tired, empty, dull, you know? Don’t make me talk more, I’m always messing up the words that matter.” Lies, she thinks, Ichigo has always been a poet to her. Flowery confessions of roll off his tongue in the right frame of mind. “I’ve just spent ten years hoping at least one of us was happy.”

Rukia feels the anger flare up inside her. “Why would you think that? Why would you think I would be happy with him?” _Why would you think I would be happy without you?_ She hopes the question in her mind is implied, because saying it out loud is too dangerous.

“I hoped I was wrong. I mean, part of me always felt so selfish for thinking that there was no way you could be happy with Renji, so I hoped I was just being jealous. That even if I was stuck here, that maybe you could be happy after all.” He fidgets with the dirty dishes in the sink, avoiding eye contact. “I just want you to really smile again.” It’s too much. Too much like the boy from years ago, remembering why he bled all over a land of ghosts just to save her. And Rukia does exactly what she did then. She smiles. Sincerely.

He pulls her close and her blood screams _danger danger danger._ She wraps her arms around Ichigo, hoping this just looks like the friendly embrace of two friends who haven’t seen each other in _ten goddamn years_ instead of whatever it is they are, have always been. He lets her go and they are still standing maybe—probably—too close, yet it keeping the façade up is tiring and Rukia is exhausted so she stays. When she meets Ichigo’s eyes, Rukia sees more than she wants to. He looks at her like he loves her, the same way she loves him. Not the vibrant, young way filled with fight and passion of years ago. It feels broken and muted, but it’s still feels like love—they’re still in love—just older and quieter. When Rukia puts a hand on his shoulder, Ichigo gives her a sad smile. She doesn’t know how they are going to get out of a mess that is ten years in the making, but it’s still love. And maybe that’s enough for now.


End file.
